


P is for Persuasion

by Luci0logy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-14
Updated: 2006-09-14
Packaged: 2018-10-27 14:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luci0logy/pseuds/Luci0logy
Summary: Even the gentlest soul can turn when provoked once too often. Merryweather, Harry's homophobic boss, thinks he's finally got the upper hand where Draco's concerned. Enter one extremely pissed off Harry Potter.





	P is for Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for the H/D shag a day comm hd_365. Thanks to my betas Saladbats and Dacro.  


* * *

The pub doors opened, spilling patrons laughing and chattering into the warm September night. Harry shouldered his way through the crowd of revellers currently blocking his path to his destination further down the street – Seamus Finnigan’s flat. The doors opened again, filling the night with more laughter carried on a refrain of ‘Only the lonely know the way I feel tonight’. Harry rolled his eyes and dug his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. How he loathed that record. It had been one of Aunt Petunia’s favourites; she’d played it repeatedly when Uncle Vernon was away. 

Scowling at the jovial faces milling around him, Harry muttered, “Yeah, right, Roy. Only the lonely, pissed off, and downright fucking confused.”

It had been a very confusing day all in all, and clarity was still leading Harry’s thoughts on a merry dance through the maze of his troubled mind. For the umpteenth time that night, Harry recalled the day’s events. Had he missed something? Some tiny clue that would help to explain the sense of wrongness that sat like a lead weight in his gut, filling him with dread? Had he pushed too hard to help?

Nothing had seemed amiss at the start of the day. His wake up call had been his favourite kind - Draco’s warm, moist mouth around his cock, sucking it gently to full hardness, and his sleep-fogged brain to a state of awareness that allowed him to articulate his pleasure with groans of “Nnnngh,” “Uuuugh,” and finally, “Oh… god… that’s so good.” 

The morning had continued to improve with not just one, but two bouts of passionate sex. After the toe-curling delight of emptying himself in Draco’s mouth, Harry had been rolled over and coaxed on to his hands and knees, spreading his still quivering thighs, before Draco parted his arse cheeks and pressed into him in one fluid movement.  Draco had moved slowly at first, giving Harry some time to recover from his orgasm, before thrusting at an ever increasing pace until he came with a loud cry, collapsing with Harry on to the bed. 

A short while later, during their morning ablutions, Harry had eased himself into Draco, until they stood chest to back, thigh to thigh, against the wall of the shower cubicle. He took Draco from behind, one hand gripping his hip, the other hand stroking his hard soap covered cock, until they slid panting down the come splattered tiles, completely sated. 

What more could a man want? _Quite simply,_ Harry thought, _to know what the fuck is going on._

 Either Draco was a consummate actor who had managed to hide his true feelings about Tuesday’s incident with Merryweather from Harry during the rest of the week, or something had happened that morning to change his demeanour. Harry strongly suspected the latter. 

Draco had been more than fine when he’d read the unexpected Owl asking him to come into work to discuss a possible temporary secondment to another Auror team. In fact, after Tuesday’s debacle, he’d seemed positively upbeat and had agreed with Harry that it was probably a good idea to put some distance between himself and Merryweather before he hexed the twat. It was a much different Draco that returned to their flat four hours later – quiet and withdrawn for the most part, unless he was attempting a smile and an unconvincing “I’m alright. It's nothing,” every time Harry tried to find out what was wrong. 

Finally, by 7pm, Harry could stand the silence permeating the flat no longer. He went to their bedroom; the sanctuary Draco had finally sought refuge in two hours earlier, claiming he just wanted to be alone, and planted himself at the end of the bed, arms crossed. Like a starving dog with a bone, Harry wouldn’t let go. He was determined to get to the bottom of whatever was troubling Draco. 

Chewing his bottom lip, Harry mulled over the exchange that had led to him walking the streets of London alone on a Saturday night, stone cold sober, not sure whether he and Draco were going to break up.

~*~

“I _know_ something is bothering you. I’m not stupid.” 

“No one said you were,” Draco had replied with feigned nonchalance, while staring at the ceiling.

“Then tell me what’s wrong. It’s obvious something is when you’re like this.”

“Like what?” came the bored response.

“This!” Harry snapped, gesturing back and forth over Draco’s inert body. 

Silence answered him.

He sighed, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes in frustration. Replacing his glasses, he tried again. “Look, Draco, I’m sorry for snapping, okay? I’m concerned about you. Won’t you tell me what the problem is?” 

Still no response. 

Harry ploughed on, regardless. “Whatever it is, I can…”

“No, you can’t. Just leave it,” Draco replied, making no attempt to look at Harry. He sounded… tired, drained.

Harry walked round and knelt down by the side of the bed. He tentatively reached out for Draco’s left arm, but Draco turned away leaving the tense line of his back facing him. Harry took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. He hated it when Draco retreated inside himself: closed off, isolated. It had been some time since the last occurrence. Still, he’d managed to coax Draco out of his ‘tower of silence’ after the sordid details of what happened to him while he was held captive at the Manor, during the war,  were revealed in April.

 Feeling cautiously optimistic, Harry decided to try again. Climbing on to the bed he lay on his side, close enough to Draco without actually touching, and gently combed his fingers through Draco’s soft blond hair. “Hey,” he said, his voice low, “whatever it is, I _know_ we can sort it out together. Let me help… please.”

“You can’t help,” Draco replied to the wall he was facing. “This is something I have to sort out myself. I just need time to think.”

“Draco, we’re together – a couple. What hurts you hurts me, so tell me what’s happened.”

Draco sighed and rolled on to his back glancing briefly at Harry. “You just don’t know when to stop, do you? I _said_ leave it. Can’t you do that for me?”

Trying to lighten the mood, Harry said, “You know me, Gryffindor to the core. I want to know what the problem…”

" The problem,” Draco snapped, rolling off the bed suddenly to stand over Harry, “is having a limpet for a boyfriend who clings to me all the bloody time and won’t give me room to breathe!” 

Harry looked up, baffled by this sudden outburst. Hurt flooded through him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words shrivelled to dust on his tongue when he saw the expression on Draco’s face. After a tense moment, Draco finally spoke. “Maybe we shouldn’t be a couple,” he said quietly. “It would make things a lot easier don’t you think?” 

“What?” Harry sat up in alarm. “No! Draco…”

Draco turned and left the room, leaving a very bewildered Harry sitting stunned on the bed. “I’m going out. Don’t wait up,” he heard Draco call from the entrance hall.

“Wait,” Harry shouted after him as he scrambled off the bed. His second cry of “Draco, wait,” was drowned out by the resounding slam of the front door.

~*~

Pausing under the dim orange glow of a street light to get his bearings, Harry could see the building that Seamus lived in a little further down the road. If he was a smoker, now would be the time to light up, breathe in deeply and exhale away some of his tension. He was certain that would ease the constant churning in his gut, that and talking to someone. 

Harry had briefly entertained the idea of contacting Oliver Wood; after all they were still friends, but he didn’t want to enflame the situation (whatever that was) any further by doing something that Draco could misinterpret. So that left Seamus, although he doubted the shag-sick fool would be of much help. At least he would be a sympathetic ear who understood how difficult things had been for both him and Draco this last week.

Finally arriving at the building, Harry used the intercom to announce his presence. He made his way to the flat and was a little surprised to find Blaise standing at the open door. “Hi Zabini,” Harry tried to sound casual, “is Seamus in? I need a quick word.”

Blaise regarded Harry coolly for a moment, before speaking. “Come to talk about Draco, have you?”

"You've seen him?"  Blaise rolled his eyes, and gave Harry a pointed look. Harry could've kicked himself for stating the blindingly obvious. "When?"

"We met several hours ago, before he went on his _assignment_."

A sudden wave of hostility overcame Harry. Here was someone, an outsider to all intents and purposes despite his long friendship with Draco, who knew more than he did. “What the fuck do you know about it?” Harry snapped.

“A lot more than you do, evidently,” Blaise replied smoothly. “You’d better come in.” He stood to one side, allowing Harry to step past him into the brightly lit hallway.

Harry walked through to the sitting room. Selecting one of the leather chairs he perched on the edge, taut as a bow string. Blaise sat in the chair opposite, smirk firmly in place. “Can I just see Seamus, please?” Harry asked with some impatience.

“Seamus isn’t here at the moment; he’s fetching dinner.”

Harry sighed. “Mind if I wait?”

“Be my guest,” Blaise replied, picking up a magazine from the coffee table. He settled back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other, and proceeded to flick through it, ignoring Harry. Harry’s eyes bored holes into the fireplace across the room as he studiously avoided making eye contact with Blaise. They sat together in strained silence for several minutes. "Never in a million years would I have predicted this turn of events,” Blaise suddenly announced, lowering the magazine and training his dark eyes on Harry. 

Harry glared at him. “Are you trying to be funny? Lots of couples have rows.”

Blaise snorted. “I wasn’t referring to that, although you and Draco have probably had more than most over the years. I meant sitting here, on a Saturday night, waiting for a bloody Gryffindor.” Harry replied with a tight smile, appreciating the olive branch. 

“Sorry. For biting your head off before, that is. It’s just that I don’t understand what’s happened.” He paused, sighing again and stared into the middle distance, lost in thought. Blaise watched Harry, waiting to see if he would reveal more. After several moments he spoke, his voice thick with emotion. “Everything was alright this morning before Draco was called in to work; at least I thought it was. I know it’s something bad. I… I can feel it. Does that make sense?” Harry turned to look at Blaise. Blaise nodded cautiously. “But Draco wouldn’t tell me. I kept bugging him, even when he made it clear he wanted to be left alone. Then he…” Harry paused and drew a shaky breath, “he said he wasn’t sure if we should be a couple anymore. I just don’t understand what’s changed.” 

Harry felt the prickling of tears and rubbed angrily at his eyes. He closed his eyes and took several calming breaths. Finally, Blaise spoke.

“Merryweather,” he said.

Harry sat back and blinked at Blaise. “Pardon?”

“Merryweather. He’s your problem.”

Harry frowned. “Don’t tell me Draco’s still worried about what happened on Tuesday? I thought we’d said a collective ‘fuck you’ to that crap.”

“No it’s not that. This is new crap.”

Harry swallowed. Fear rose to his throat, as the churning in his stomach increased, making him feel nauseous. “Go on.”

“Draco has been temporarily seconded to another Auror team,” Blaise said.

“I know that. We thought it was a good idea if he accepted, to put some distance between him and Merryweather,” Harry replied.

“Draco was seconded at Merryweather’s request.”

“What?” Harry stood and began to pace in front of the chair. “Why?" He stopped, looking down at Blaise. "I don’t understand.”

“Harry, sit down and let me finish. Can you do that?” Harry scowled at Blaise, and sat back down on the chair.

Blaise continued. “Apparently an enterprising wizard has been making a very desirable potion for wizard use that targets Muggles. It’s currently being used on the club circuit. The potion’s street name is P.” 

“P?” Harry said.

“It’s short for Persuasion. It somehow alters the users' pheromones, making them completely irresistible to their chosen Muggle target - be the wizard or witch old, bald, even two-headed. If a Muggle ingests the drug, it makes them extremely susceptible to suggestion.”

Harry nodded in understanding. “Like a liquid Imperio? Hence the name Persuasion.” 

“Precisely.” 

“So you’re saying that any magical user of the drug could get a Muggle to do anything for them, _or_ to them willingly?” 

“It would seem so.”

 Harry shuddered at that thought. “Bloody hell! But what has it got to do with Draco?”

“The other team have been following various leads for some time and have finally identified two Squibs who are involved in trafficking this potion. One of them, Donal Brown, has been seen on the gay club circuit using the drug on Muggle men to have sex with them. There’s evidence to suggest he’s rather vicious to his chosen victim.”

“Shit,” Harry breathed.

“The other, Mundungus Fletcher…”

“Mundungus? Fuck! There’s a name I’ve not heard for some time.”

“You know him then?” asked Blaise.

“Yes, I know him. He was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, until he was discovered selling family heirlooms from the Order’s Headquarters. He effectively disappeared when we were in sixth year,” replied Harry.

“Well, he’s back now. He stays away from the clubs and concentrates on drumming up trade amongst disaffected wizards and witches with a Muggle axe to grind. Currently, no one knows who is making the potion.”

Harry knew they were getting to the crux of the matter. He wiped his sweating palms absently on his trousers. “And…” he prompted Blaise.

“The other team know where Donal Brown will be tonight. Draco, being gay, and rather easy on the eyes, has agreed to be used as bait, wandless of course, to lure this Donal into offering him the drug.” 

Harry exploded. “He what?” 

Blaise winced. Harry jumped up from his chair and began pacing again, running his hands repeatedly through his hair. “Bloody fuck! Has he lost his mind? What happens if something goes wrong? Is there back up? What about the drug? He could end up doing something he’ll hate himself for.”

“It’s thought, but not proven, that another wizard isn’t susceptible to the pheromone change,” Blaise observed.

“Not proven? Oh that’s just great! What I don’t understand is why he would do what Merryweather wanted. Why didn’t he tell Merryweather to fuck off?”

“He did,” Blaise said.

“So why did he change his mind then?” Harry yelled in frustration.

“Because Merryweather knows Draco’s greatest weakness,” Blaise replied calmly.

Harry shook his head. “No, he doesn’t. Draco Obliviated him at the warehouse raid in April.”

Blaise looked at Harry with a solemn, yet patient expression. “I’m not referring to whatever happened there, Harry. I’m talking about you.”

Harry took a step back, looking puzzled. “Me? I’m not Draco’s greatest weakness. I can look after myself. He knows that.”

“You are, Harry, because he loves you. He’d do anything to protect you.” 

Harry sat down again in the chair, clearly taken aback. Blaise watched in silence as a range of emotions crossed Harry’s face, morphing from disbelief to quiet joy. Finally, Harry looked up at Blaise. “He told _you_ that?” he said in an awed tone. “Draco told you he loves me?”

“Yes, he did. Does that surprise you?”

“Well, yes. Draco’s always so… You know what he’s like.”

“He’s a Slytherin,” said Blaise. “We play our cards close to our chests. We also protect what’s ours.”

“How did that scum Merryweather get one over on Draco?”

Blaise leant forward, closing the gap between the two of them. “He showed Draco something that he’d found in an ancient parchment concerning the employment of Aurors, an archaic reference to something called the Moral Turpitude Code.”  
   
“Meaning?” Harry knew he wouldn’t like Blaise’s answer.

“Meaning that Aurors are supposed to conduct themselves with decorum at all times, including in their private lives. Merryweather made it quite clear that having a homosexual affair with another Auror would be grounds for dismissal under the code; even if the other Auror was the Saviour of the Wizarding World himself.”

“That fucking bastard!”

“He was, however, prepared to keep quiet on this occasion, if Draco agreed to go undercover, to literally prostitute himself for a taste of the drug in a bid to catch Donal Brown.”

“Oh, god!”

“If Draco refused, Merryweather said he would make sure Draco was sacked for refusing a direct order, and any subsequent disciplinary transcripts would be made public. Your name specifically, and your ‘depraved habits’ would be dragged through the mud for all to read about. Draco couldn’t bear to let that happen to you.”

“I don’t believe this,” Harry groaned. “I thought we’d got rid of that kind of hate and intolerance with Voldemort.” 

“Unfortunately it’s alive and well and working at the Ministry,” Blaise replied. “It seems to me that Merryweather is deliberately trying to humiliate Draco, and make him feel like a whore.”

“Why couldn’t he tell me? I would’ve understood. We aren’t supposed to have any secrets from each other.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a third party and not the person who means so much to you. I think that deep down he’s afraid of losing you, although he would never reveal that to me.”

“This is all my fault,” said Harry in a quiet voice.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “God save me from Gryffindors,” he muttered to himself before answering Harry. “Why do you think that?”

“Draco wanted to sort Merryweather out last week - personally. I persuaded him to hold off while we went through the proper channels. Shacklebolt is still processing the paperwork, but it seems that we’ve run out of time.” Harry fixed Blaise with an intense look that left him feeling exposed to the core. He knew that he would deny Harry nothing he wanted to know. “Where is he? I can’t leave him to play Merryweather’s games, and his sick sense of justice.”

“If you go, you’ll probably blow the whole operation. Are you prepared for what will follow? You could both lose your jobs and your reputations.”

“Screw our reputations. Where is he?”

“He’s at the Too2Much Club on Brewer Street. Do you know it?”

“Yeah. I’ve been there once, with Draco as it happens.” Harry rose from the chair and walked over to the door. He paused briefly and looked back at Blaise. “Thanks for your help.”

“Thank me when it’s over. I’ll wait for Seamus, and then we’ll come over to the club. I have a feeling you may need a little help from the brains and the Irish brawn.”

“No. Thanks. I think it’s best if you leave it to me for tonight. If I get myself into deep water, I’m going to need all the friends I’ve got in the Ministry or elsewhere to help me sort Merryweather out.”

Harry opened the door only to be greeted by Seamus holding numerous take away bags trying to procure his wand from his pocket. “Is that yourself, Harry?” Seamus said with a warm grin.

“Can’t stop, Seamus. Blaise will fill you in on the details,” he said before disappearing down the stairs two at a time, leaving a bewildered Seamus behind him. 

Harry stepped outside the building, checked the street was deserted, and Apparated to the alley he and Draco used as a safe point, near the O Bar on the corner of Brewer Street – one of Draco’s favourite haunts. Rounding the corner, he jogged down the street toward the brilliantly lit entrance of the Too2Much Club, hoping to be inside moments later. 

Harry’s stomach sank when he saw the length of the queue snaked outside, waiting to gain entrance. He knew there was no conceivable way he could get in quickly via conventional means. Having been here once, when he and Draco first started seeing each other, Harry mentally tried to picture where the toilets were. He was fairly certain he had the correct location, so, with feet pounding to the rhythm of his rapidly increasing heart beat, Harry ran back to the alley at the top of the street to Apparate again. He hoped that any clientele using the facilities would be too stoned to notice his sudden appearance. With luck he was right.

The laser light show dazzled him when he first emerged from the toilets, and it took Harry a few moments to re-familiarise himself with the layout of the club. He was stood close to the raised bar, with its brilliant Swarovski crystal light show, not far from the steps leading to the tiered red leather banquette seating. People were sitting at individually lit tables, chatting or watching the dance floor below, already packed with bodies swaying or grinding to the music. Across the writhing mass of bodies, Harry could make out the stage that played host to comedy and cabaret, amongst other entertainments, flanked either side by pole dancing booths.

Now accustomed to the light he could identify several Aurors, although he was sure more Ministry personnel would be present. Prat Pritchard was sitting at a table below him with a pretty girl he didn’t recognise. Over by one of the pole dancing booths Harry glimpsed Daisy Henderson and Gita Johal getting up close and personal. Looking along the bar area, Harry finally located Merryweather leaning on the rail, staring at a fixed point on the dance floor. Although not his operation, Harry had suspected the Fairy would be here. He wouldn’t want to miss this floor show. Anger simmered in his gut. Harry took a calming breath and followed Merryweather’s gaze and spotted the bright blond of Draco’s hair amidst the crowd. 

Draco was dancing with another taller, slightly more thickset man. He looked hot, even in these circumstances, wearing faded jeans that fit like a second skin, showing off his firm arse and the line of his cock to perfection. In the multicoloured hues of the light show, the pale skin of Draco's bare chest and blond hair contrasted starkly with the other man's swarthy complexion and shorter dark hair.  

Harry’s eyes narrowed and something clenched painfully in his gut as he watched the other man lift his hand and trail a teasing finger down Draco’s throat and chest, circling first one nipple then the other, before moving down toward his groin. Draco’s hand shot out the moment the other man’s reached his belt and he shook his head. Harry thought Draco mouthed the words _Not here._ Not for the first time he felt sick. 

The other man – Donal Brown - used Draco’s belt to pull Draco to him, so their hips snapped together. Harry could barely see his face, but he could tell by the set of Draco’s shoulders that he was not completely happy with the situation. An arm snaked around Draco’s waist, holding him in place. Harry watched, jaw clenched, as Draco gave the impression of visibly relaxing into Brown's embrace. He smiled beguilingly, indicating that they should leave the dance floor and take a seat at one of the lamp lit tables. Brown shook his head and continued to hold Draco closely to him, guiding him toward the darker side of the dance floor where tall pillars cast deep shadows under the spectacular chandelier that hung from the ceiling. 

Harry glanced at Merryweather. The bastard’s face was a twisted mask of malicious glee. It was like a red rag to a bull, and finally, after months of provocation, Harry snapped. Any plan he may have had for being discreet flew out of the window. Fury engulfed him at the thought of Merryweather getting off on the danger he’d deliberately placed Draco in. With a sudden surge of adrenalin he launched himself at Merryweather. 

“You sick Fuck!” he shouted. Merryweather looked up at the sound of Harry’s voice, just as Harry drew his arm back and smashed his fist into Merryweather’s face, striking him squarely on the jaw. Merryweather went down amidst a shower of alcohol, broken glass and screams. Not giving him a chance to recover, Harry straddled Merryweather’s chest and brought his fist down again and again, revelling in the feeling of torn cartilage and broken bone beneath his knuckles. 

The house lights went on and the music stopped. Harry felt strong hands on both arms pulling him off Merryweather. “Get off me!” he yelled, kicking out viciously, catching one of his assailants on the shin. “Fuck! Harry, it’s Seamus. Stop kicking.” 

The familiar Irish brogue cut through the red mist of destruction that swam in front of Harry’s eyes. Harry stilled, his chest heaving from exertion, finally recognising his friend. “Go and get Draco before security throws us out. We’ll deal with this,” Seamus commanded. Harry gave a curt nod began to push his way down the steps full of spectators toward the spot he’d last seen Draco. 

“Potter!” A distorted voice roared behind him. Harry turned around to see a somewhat bloodied and bruised Merryweather wavering on his feet, supported by Pritchard. “You're finished, Potter. Mark my words, finished! You’re suspended, pending…” Harry sneered, watching Merryweather’s mouth work furiously, but no sound came out. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Blaise surreptitiously pocketing his wand. 

The adrenalin began to dissipate, and Harry felt somewhat calmer by the time he found Draco. He was standing by one of the pillars blinking in the bright light. Harry thought Draco looked tired, defeated. Donal Brown had disappeared. Harry was suddenly unsure of himself. He hoped Draco wouldn’t be too angry with him for being here at the club. 

Approaching Draco slowly, Harry reached out, touching his arm gently. Draco tensed, then looked up, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw Harry. He looked away quickly; the muscle twitching in his cheek told Harry how uncomfortable Draco felt. Whether it was from the situation he'd been in moments before, or Harry's unexpected presence at the club, Harry couldn't be certain. “Hi. Remember me? We met here last week,” he quipped in an effort to diffuse any tension there may still be between them. 

Draco scowled back. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Harry was about to answer with some indignation, when he saw someone at the top of the stairs pointing them out to two beefy security guards. Reaching out for Draco again, Harry said, in a tone that brooked no argument, “We need to go. Now. Save any arguments for when we get home.” Gripping Draco’s wrist as firmly as his swollen hand would allow, Harry led him to the toilets to Apparate.

The crack of Apparition echoed throughout the flat. Both men flopped on to the nearest sofa, sitting in silence for several minutes. Harry’s thoughts tumbled over each other, as he considered the events at the club. Turning his face toward Draco, he found himself the subject of the other man’s watchful gaze. 

They regarded each other in silence for several moments. Harry’s stomach began to churn again. He swallowed, pushing his growing sense of unease further down. He needed to touch Draco, to wrap him in his arms, shutting the world out. Taking a deep breath, Harry scooted over to Draco’s side.

"You okay?" he said, as he rubbed Draco's bare arm, trying to offer some form of comfort, uncertain whether he was going to be rebuffed. This time Draco didn’t look away. He responded with a quick nod. 

Harry bit his lip, searching Draco’s face for a clue as to how he felt. “Don’t be mad… please.” 

“I’m not mad, Harry. I should be, but I’m not. Truthfully, I’m just relieved to be out of there, before things went too far.”  

Draco looked at down at Harry’s hand, noticing the swollen, bleeding knuckles for the first time. 

“What the hell happened to you?!” 

Not sure what to say, Harry resorted to the favoured strategy of naughty children everywhere, be they wizard or Muggle, and shrugged. Draco eyed him. “Potter…” he warned.

Harry flushed. “I caught it on something. It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing to me.” Draco lifted Harry’s hand to examine it more closely. “This needs to be cleaned and healed.” He looked up at Harry’s troubled face. “That was you at the club, causing the fracas, was it not?”

Harry looked at his hand, cradled with care by Draco’s. He was embarrassed by his earlier actions. “Yeah.” His gaze flicked back to Draco. “Are you angry with me?” 

A brief smile tugged at Draco’s lips. “No. Surprised, definitely. God knows what Merryweather is going to say. I bet he’s furious.”

“Umm, you could say that.”

“Oh?” Draco closed the gap between them, locking eyes with Harry. “What did you do, Harry?” 

Harry could feel the heat of the blush intensifying as it rose from his neck to his hair line. He squirmed under Draco’s gaze, but couldn’t look away. _Time for honesty,_ he thought. “When I said I caught my hand on something… well, it was Merryweather’s face… several times actually. He told me I was finished, and then suspended me.” 

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“I couldn’t stand the way he was watching you, smirking like that. It felt dirty somehow, wrong. Like… like he was a peeping Tom. I… I lost it. No excuses, Draco. I was so angry that he’d put you in such a dangerous position, without your wand for protection.”

“Do you know what he said?” Draco asked. “What he threatened?”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Yes,” he whispered, “Blaise told me. And as much as I want to criticise you, I can’t because I know that I would’ve done exactly the same thing.”

Draco lifted Harry’s hand to his lips. “My hero,” he murmured, before kissing each bruised knuckle gently. Harry pulled Draco to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and the other around his back. He inhaled Draco’s scent: warm spices mingled with a hint of cigarette smoke, and then placed a soft kiss on the top of his head. Draco relaxed against Harry’s chest, tucking his head under Harry’s jaw. 

 “Harry, you know I don't find confession easy, but for what it's worth, I have no intention of ever leaving you. I shouldn’t have said what I did. Am I forgiven?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. It’s me who should be apologising for not listening to you on Tuesday. All this could’ve been avoided.”

“Do you think so? I don’t. I’ve seen that type of almost fanatical hate before, at the end of the war, when it became obvious the tide was turning against Voldemort. People tried to deny their pure-blood heritage, and were quick to point the finger at others with Death Eater relatives, in case they were tarred with the same brush. Do you want to know what I think?” he looked up at Harry.

“What do you think?”

“I think Merryweather is in the closet, and he abhors himself because of his ‘depraved feelings’ as he calls them.”

Harry knew he was gaping like a fish at that bombshell. “I never considered that. Bloody hell! What if it’s true?”

“Then we owe it to him to put him in touch with his inner queen.”

“After tonight? Do you think that's wise?" Harry leant back to look at Draco. "He set you up, Draco. He deliberately put you in a dangerous situation, without your wand, and stood there watching the whole thing. He's dangerous."

"I think we can play him at his own game, if we're careful, Harry," Draco replied. Harry didn’t answer. He sat deep in thought, absently carding Draco’s hair with his fingers. Draco twisted round and brought his face level with Harry’s. There were no barriers between them now. 

Slowly their eyes closed and their lips met, barely touching at first. Harry teasingly brushed his mouth back and forth across Draco’s parted lips, before the kiss became deeper, more intense. Hands sought out and wound through each other’s hair as their passion rose. Draco eventually drew back and smiled, running his fingers through Harry’s hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’ll go and start the shower,” he said, rising from the sofa. “We could both do with it before bed.” Harry sat for a moment looking down at his swollen, scraped knuckles. He expected to feel ashamed, but there was nothing except a fierce sense of pride. He’d lost control like never before, he was suspended pending an inquiry, but he knew in his heart of hearts he’d do it again to protect Draco, and this precious thing they had between them. 

~*~

 


End file.
